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Turoa Nov 2018
I hear a whistle blaring
It's a sound like no other
Three tones perfectly out of sync
Terrifying yet familiar
The roar of fire within the belly of some prehistoric metal beast
As the steam screams through rusted pipes
And somewhere between the two
Is the bellow of an unseen engineer
A madman slave to his furnace
Ripping away at the chord
The sound wakes me from my slumber
All thoughts are gone and for one blissful moment
All that exists is that three toned symphony
I recall a younger boy as trees and shadows flick by the glass
It's unusually cold on board tonight
The little boy shivers as the cold creeps
The window is the only portal
Through which one can see the beauty
Of the night outside
Trees flick by like memories, lost and blended by shadows
I remember the imaginary trees
Whizzing past
And the roar of the wood catching
As the pipe climbing from the stove whistles
It's dark and seeping from the window
Come the creeping fingers of cold gripping at me
The fire is blistering hot, but at my back
All I need to do is turn and the comforting winter embrace
Is always right there waiting
My chubby little fingers aren't hard and calloused yet
The cold dry.. It hurts
And my nose bleeds
It'll be fine
It always is
I was never afraid of a little hurt
It makes boys men
But for now my train is unstoppable
Tearing across an endless track
The colorful carved blocks
Magnets holding the links together
Iron filings
Grit between each faded joint
The segmented spine
Of a wood and metal
Twisting and undulating
Rattling it's little caboose
In anticipation
Of an unknown destination
As it burns through
Stained brown carpet
As the fire casts shadows stretch along the floor
One could imagine
It is a real train
The tracks are real now
It's a real train that tears across them
Like veins of a sleeping giant
Powerless to stop the iron bullets
In succession tearing through him
Those tracks are beneath me now
Endless
Cold steel
Cold and heartless
But savagely effective
In conjunction with the hissing pistons
The metal serpent hurdles forward
I can't remember where I was heading
Nor where I boarded
Come to think of it
All lost to that whistle
A cigarette burns steadily
A single ember in this segmented metal tomb
It overpowers my sense of smell and brings a seeming sense of clarity
I remember that little boy had a similar whistle
Or was it a sound he used to make with his mouth
I see a triangular prism
Wood with holes cut into it's three sides
Yes that's the whistle
The sound
The sound of power
The unstoppable rushing onward
Wheels pulse beneath me
Maybe it was gentle once, but now
It's a violent shudder
The metal reverberates every concussive strike
Like the hammer reverberated
Vicariously
Against every felled spike
A younger man laid these rails
A younger man drove these spikes
His hands are worn and calloused now
Blood and sweat flow freely
Salt stings only his indifference
This track is endless and finally as the sun drips low
The peaceful embrace of that ever present dark
Playfully marching across the sky
The cigarette flares with each drag
The comforting reminder that each breath is numbered
These tracks are endless
And were placed by a much younger man remember
But with that last drag
Everything
Even this almighty train
Must have a final stop
I make my way along the cars
Empty and cold
But there is a heat in front of me
Steadily building
There is an old familiarity about the sensation
Steady searing heat paralleled
Like this track
The driving inferno forward
That creeping cold at my back
A younger man formed these rails
Put down every length of track
The timber he cut to form the pilings
Spikes driven
Hammered
By his ****** fists
Rails carried and placed
Like a profane cross
Upon a sinners back
He is tired
Like I am tired
He walks into the sunset
Along the path he carved for himself
The silence is so peaceful
Step after solitary step
He looks out at the beautiful
Masterpiece only he could create
Never mind the soot and dust  
Mixed in sweat  
The stains that cover his aching body
Never mind the staccato drip
The pulse and fatigue ringing through depleted limbs
A steady drip
As his ****** fists
Paint little red drops, like shattering stars
With every click worn boots
On the fresh wood and steel
Every step
Along this path,
Is the solemn advance of a condemned monster,
And on this path,
Every step,
Is the wretched creep of a glistening black god.
I'm tired when I reach the engine room.
Involuntarily I open the door.
Somewhere in a dark room,
A boy innocently plays with his multi-coloured desert viper Coiled deceitfully on the floor.
It's burning,
My lungs grasp hopelessly
At the chance for brisk night air.
One of my hands is chained to the lever
The other to the chord.  
I remember walking in here once,
But I can't remember any more.  
The familiar sound surprises me
As it has every time before.  
A younger man
With the last ash of a cigarette
Stares transfixed
Paralyzed stepping through the door.  
...The sun on his track sets,
Between his rails his feet are sure.  
The trees are quiet and calm.
..Still..
Peaceful in the darkness
No pistons scream
Or monsters roar.  
..and then..
Is it behind
Or within me
..I hear a whistle.
Turoa Nov 2018
There's a storm building outside,
But honey oh those fires within,
The ones, the ones that tear the walls down,
Hiding just beneath the skin.
(C#m  G#m  D#  G#m)
As the sky fills with thunder,
Shaking my window pane
The walls shake and shudder,
As you whisper to me, again.
Oh, that whispered word, again.
Lord don't waste your mercy,
Because you know I plan to sin.
This burning soul seeks no forgiveness,
I fight the war I'll never win.
Honey you've played with fire,
Treacherous warmth can always burn.
But like the moth drawn by desire,
Try to fight, but never learn. -----
As skies fill with thunder,
Rain falls on my window pane.
Wrapped in dark I feel you shudder,
As this house goes up in flames.
Lord don't waste you mercy,
You know I plan to sin
Spare your forgiveness
This war I'll never win. -----
The sky must need the water
Like the sun
Needs the dark
I hang your halo by my bedside
And in,
Me lights the spark.
Let it rain
Let it rain down Lord
Scream your pleasure
Tears of pain
Let it rain
Let it rain down Lord
As this house
Goes up in flames
Let it rain
Let it rain down Lord
As her feathered wings grow dim
Let it rain
Let it rain down Lord
Let it rain
Let it rain
Another angel falls now
With the whispered word again.
Let it...
(Outro)
This song idea came through a couple simple blues chords, I have a harsh voice, I don't mask or hide what I think and feel, and I don't pretend to be saint. This song reflects that sentiment.
Turoa Nov 2018
Walking silence along the trail I know
I am a poet through which observation
Others find me, come beseeching
Words to carry, utter, flow,
Then sent falling as tears
Far from my reaching
It comes to eye and breath to shudder
Darkest truths these things I know
Shall one run to light
Or take to shadow
To what end leads this trail
The words I sow
This existence is a paradox
A starlit path beneath a silent storm
Till the crack of lightning
And thunder's roar
I may know only night
But ever search for more
Is there an end to my trail
I do hope
Prays the longing of my soul
Turoa Nov 2018
This is just a poem
A chance to write
The feelings
Neither wrong nor right
Like the thirst for freedom
Raptor's need,
To hunt in flight
I just want to express
Myself.  My thoughts.
..usually the ones that keep me awake at 2 in the morning

— The End —